Why he is that way
by pretty pebbles
Summary: We all wonder why he is that way. What horrible actions could have happened to him in the past to make him act how he does today.


It was a dark stormy night with much thunder, rain and lightning. A small young boy who was only six years of age was alone in his room. He was sitting with his back leaning against his polished oak cupboard doors with his knees against his chest. He was shaking out of pure fright from the storm raging outside his bedroom. Every time the lightning flashed it illuminated the boy's dark hair against his pale almost white skin. Whenever the thunder boomed the small boy whimpered. Finally after fifteen minutes although to the boy it felt more like two hours the small frail boy got to his feet, crossed the room and quietly opened his door. He looked at the large landing with its dark emerald green carpet and high grey walls. The stairs looked so far away even though they were only about 5 metres away. Slowly but carefully he started to move towards the stairs. He was about half way across the landing when suddenly there was an extremely loud crash of thunder. The small boy looked out of the large, grand window on his right which was not a good idea because as the lightning flashed it lighted up the large trees with their finger like branches. The young boy whimpered once more. He reached the top of the stairs and looked between the railings down into the living room. He saw an extremely pretty lady who was humming while knitting a child sized sweater. She was sitting in a large forest green rocking chair. The woman had straight chestnut brown hair that reached just below her shoulders and sky blue eyes. The young child slowly and quietly crept down the stairs. The young boy was so silent that the woman did not notice him until she felt a tugging on her robes. The woman looked down and saw the young boy. She smiled at him, put her knitting down then bent to pick him up. The boy put his arms up expectantly as the woman grabbed his small frail body in her warm and comfortable hands. As she put the young boy on her lap his dark bangs fell in front of his cinnamon brown eyes. The woman smiled as he snuggled in closer to her. The woman was rocking back and forth in the chair and the small boy felt truly safe because he was in his mother's arms. He felt love, comfort and security in her arms. Only in her arms was he at peace.

After half an hour of gentle rocking the boy's eyelids were beginning to feel heavy and he was just about to nod off to sleep when the front door was thrown open and the boy's father staggered in. The woman could smell the strong stench of alcohol and knew that the man was drunk again. He slammed the front door shut and staggered into the living room.

"Go upstairs boy," he said gruffly.

The young boy slid off his mother's lap and quickly went up the stairs, but once he reached the top stair he stopped and observed what was happening below.

"What the hell was he doing out of bed?" asked the father with a hint of aggression.

"He was frightened of the storm," said his mother simply standing up.

"Only cowards and worthless mudbloods get frightened!" spat the father.

"He is only a small child," said the mother never losing her gentleness.

"Don't answer me back woman," said the man.

"I'm sorry," said his mother.

"No your not," said the boy's father and he brought back his hand and slapped the woman across the face.

The small boy gave a silent gasp as his mother staggered and her lip started to bleed but let no sound escape her mouth.

"What's wrong?" asked the man and he punched her in the stomach.

But still the woman did not utter a word and this somehow irritated the drunken man even more. He slapped her across the face again and then he kicked her in the shin so hard that she fell over.

"You're worthless and weak. You don't deserve to live," the man spat.

He kicked her in the stomach again.

"Speak!" he demanded dangerously as silent tears now poured from the boy's tainted eyes.

"Why?" asked the boy's mother quietly.

"Why what?" asked the father.

The woman got to her knees and lent on the table for support.

"Why do you think that you can just hurt our child and myself," she said reaching into the pocket of her robe for her wand.

"Oh no you don't!" growled the man and he kicked her in the head.

As she fell her sky blue eye's made contact with the young boy's cinnamon brown ones. The as if in slow motion her temple collided with the pointed corner of the table and she lay so still as though she was carved out of ice. The boy's breath became ragged. Then the man looked up and saw the boy.

"I thought I told you to go to bed," he said starting to climb the stairs.

The boy gave him a frightened look before dashing to his room. As he crossed the landing he didn't even dare to look sideways. As soon as he reached his bedroom door he wrenched it open ran inside and slammed it shut behind him. He looked around widely for somewhere to hide as he heard his father's footsteps grow louder. Realising defeat he instead curled with his knees brought to his chest in a secluded corner of his room. He had his eyes closed and he shivered with fright when his father opened the door with such force that cracks formed near the hinges. When the man spotted the young boy he laughed,

"You not even worth the energy," he spat.

Then he pulled out his thick, dark wand pointed it at the boy and said

"Crucio!"

The boy screamed an ungodly scream as white hot pain shot through his whole body.

"Silencio," said his father.

This time pointing the wand at the boy's head before saying Crucio again. The boy withered in pain with his mouth wide open even though he could not utter a single sound.

Finally after 20 minutes of excruciating pain his father stopped torturing him. He gave the boy a final kick in the stomach. "Just remember boy if it wasn't for you your mother would still be alive. It's your fault she's dead." He said taking off the silencio charm as he left the room.

The young boy's face was now showing large purple bruises that contrasted with his pale white skin. He cried and cried. He cried for himself but mainly he cried for his mother. Suddenly he heard his father's snores. He stopped himself from crying and slowly and silently crept out of his room down the stairs where he chanced a look at his mother. Her body still held that gentle air about it. The he went into the kitchen. Standing on his tiptoes the small boy reached up and grabbed a damp wash cloth that was on the sideboard of the sink. Then the boy went back into the living room and knelt by his mother. He gently used the damp cloth to dab away the trickle of blood that came from her temple and her swollen lip. Then when her face was clean the boy arranged her arms so they were crossed across her chest. The boy returned the cloth to the kitchen and as he climbed the stairs something remarkable happened. The young boy's cinnamon coloured eye's got darker and darer with every step he took so that when he reached the landing his eyes were as dark as black coals. And from that day forward that boy never shed another tear.

That boy's name …… Severus Snape

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